


Shriek

by Rosella_Burgundy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Draco Malfoy, F/M, Haunting, Obsessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22271278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosella_Burgundy/pseuds/Rosella_Burgundy
Summary: He wants her. He'll do anything in his power to get to the object of his desire.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 27
Kudos: 81
Collections: Where Gods Dwell: A Dramione Fest





	Shriek

**Author's Note:**

> Beta love to my precious RooOJoy. Love you, girl!
> 
> This work was written for the Mourning Madame's Where Gods Dwell collection. Thank you for organizing yet another interesting fest.  
> This story is loosely inspired by Paris and Helen. I twisted my prompt in a very dark way. This work is haunting. Draco is a dark, obsessed character. Everything a man should not be...he is. He wants her and doesn't care what she wants.  
> JK Rowling owns the world and characters.

Pondering over my reflection, I wrap one end of the tie around the other, slipping the knot with ease. My hair is perfectly slicked back, showing my flawlessly chiselled face, and I arch a brow knowing I am fucking dashing.

It's been years since she last saw me up close, years of war and fighting. Last time our paths crossed, she was battling with the fierceness of a lioness. She probably remembers the boy I once was, a spoiled rotten coward. My features are much the same, except for the sharpness of my jawline. I've been carved from hardness. I'm clever and ruthless, and I'll make her mine.

Looking at my tall frame reflecting off the mirror surface, I slip a jacket over my broad shoulders. 

A smirk quirks my lips upwards. Tonight is the night. She'll finally be within my grasp.

After countless years of war and many losses on both sides, the rebels have finally reached out to ask for a truce. As I make my way through the darkened Manor, I keep my shoulders squared, showing any Death Eater that crosses my path that I am now the master of the Malfoy Fortune. I dare them to speak a word against me or my mother, my eyes glaring at their retreating forms. 

The Dark Lord made me his right hand a long time ago, and I take full advantage of it. Always. Even today, I'm supposed to lead the ceasefire meeting, but I'll be scheming to get what I desire. 

Dolohov and Rowle are already waiting by the hearth. Macnair and Flint are rushing from the dungeon. My trained eyes don't miss the bloodstains across the fabric of their cloaks. With a cruel smirk, I admonish them, "Clean up, you filthy sods." Keeping my hard gaze on them, I wait until they make themselves presentable.

Stepping through the floo, I feel the familiar pull of magic that will bring me to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Rosmerta meets us with a prideful glare in her eyes. I wink at her, walking right across her establishment. This is not my final destination, and I won't waste time indulging her old grudges. She's lucky I allowed her to keep her business along with her life. The crispy autumnal air slaps my cheeks as I saunter down the street. With a purpose, I take the path that leads to the Shrieking Shack. As I remember it, the place looks like it's about to fold and crumble, the wooden frame crooked and frail.

Holding my wand, I cast various revealing spells and charms to make sure the Order hasn't set up a trap. Since Hogsmeade was crawling with Death Eaters, that would be a moronic move even for them. Luckily for them, nothing is out of order; if one doesn't consider the five people waiting inside of the shack. My heart slightly picks up the pace as we approach the unhinged door.

I step through the threshold first, my wand still in my grasp. Potter, Weasley, McGonagall, and Shaklebolt are standing as stiff as boards. It takes all my self control to not chuckle at their shrinking eyes when they see me. I spare a single glance to the lot of them, my feet taking me further in and my gaze searching the dusty room. And there she is… my beautiful obsession, my gorgeous Granger. She stands tall next to the crumbling bricks of the old fireplace, her wand pointed at my chest, her eyes hard on me.

Y _es..._ that smouldering gaze burns my skin like glowing embers, sending jolts of electric desire across my body. Slowly, she walks towards her precious members of the Order, her eyes never leaving me. The way she moves arouses me; the Muggle jeans are tightly wrapped around her delicious arse, her curves swaying and enticing. I drink all of her in and sneer, returning her glare with unashamed passion.

Suddenly, I realize nobody has said a word yet. "Greetings," I hiss as I wave my wand in the air to summon a long table and ten chairs. With my gloved hand, I gesture for them to sit. 

McGonagall takes her place at the end of one table. I take the other end. As the old bat lists the terms of the truce, or at least what the Order wishes to gain through this, I barely listen. I have no intention of making this happen. My eyes keep fleeing to her, my mind pondering how good she'd look in the clothes I chose for her. She'll be a perfect doll in the perfect dollhouse I built for her on the Manor grounds. Her hair is wild and bushy around her round face, her lips pursing tightly every time my eyes meet hers. The hate she feels for me washes over my body, engulfing me while she glares in my direction. It's empowering and exciting because it's all for me. She loathes me like no other, and it looks magnificently on her rosy cheeks.

Exactly as I predicted, Flint is restless on my left. He’s fidgeting with the handle of his wand, his eyes flicking in Weasley’s direction. They have history. The freckled moron killed his father a year ago, and I fully plan on exploiting Flint's need for revenge. I promised him he could have Weasley if he got the chance. Today is not supposed to be for a fight, but I won't stop him from snapping. He's getting close to losing his cool. I can see it. All I have to do is make Weasley talk. Not difficult since his hands curl into tight fists every time my eyes glaze over Granger's frame. It's fun to put his temper to good use. She doesn’t belong to him, and the poor sod doesn’t even know it.

I keep up with the conversation even if my thoughts are entirely in a different place. Next time my gaze finds Granger, she's in the middle of tucking an errant lock behind her ear. I follow her slender fingers as they brush the strand back, the curl bouncing back up when she lets it go. Salivating, I wet my lips, wishing to bury my nose into those fragrant locks. 

With the corner of my eyes, I register Weasley's movement. His chair scrapes the floor as he stands and points his wand at me. I sneer, my attention not leaving my prey. Excitement zaps my heart to life as Flint mirrors Weasley's actions. It doesn't take long before all my Death Eaters are standing and armed. As the Dark Lord's right hand, I should probably stop them and conduct these negotiations towards success. Too bad I couldn't care less about the war or its fate. The object of my desire is now trying to calm everybody down, ever the smartest.

Since I'm not restraining them, my dogs attack first, and I have to stifle a triumphant laugh.

In the last years of war, my spells and charm have become precise and powerful. With confidence, I slowly stand from my seat, chaos booming all around me. With a series of freezing and slowing charms, I stop time. The fighters halt in their movements and the spells sizzle into nothing as I walk among them like a god. I approach Granger, my gloved hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. Her expression is of absolute surprise, but I can see her determination glinting inside her pupils. I wonder if she would shriek if she still had a voice. Following the long line of her neck, my fingers tighten around her throat.

"Mine." My word echoes within the uncannily silent room. Without hesitation, I stun her and cast a levitating charm on her limp body. Zigzagging among the frozen bodies, I bring my prize out of the anti-apparition wards that surround Hogsmeade. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her body flush against mine and apparate away, not a care in the world about the consequences of my actions. Our frames spiral and disappear into a dark fog while my charms wear off inside of the Shrieking Shack.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
